


Views.

by RaccoonEyedNerd



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, This is kinda dark, depends on your point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15323019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaccoonEyedNerd/pseuds/RaccoonEyedNerd
Summary: The subtle tilt of her head would easily seem like a gesture of confusion or utter interest, but in this particular case, it was because of the wheels turning on her head; Mina lets the charcoal slide over the thick piece of paper over her desk, and it’s beautiful.But not as beautiful as her.





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**Author's Note:**

> Another piece I couldn't get out of my head, hope you like and, as always, thank you for reading and supporting.
> 
> Remember you can keep suporting me on my Patreon (People in patreon got this one before anyone else did) and get a lot of cool stuffs there, including ficlets, one shots and other interesting things.

The subtle tilt of her head would easily seem like a gesture of confusion or utter interest, but in this particular case, it was because of the wheels turning on her head; Mina lets the charcoal slide over the thick piece of paper over her desk, and it’s beautiful.

 

But not as beautiful as her.

 

The way in which seemingly pointless lines turn slowly into a recognizable shape fascinates Mina, and so much more when she’s able to bring _her_ to life in front of her eyes. She looks up and through her window to see Momo entering her bedroom, and she smiles softly at the cute pout decorating her face, she thinks it’s maybe because her Dad didn’t let her go out for dance practice again -He seems to be against Momo practicing other sport that isn’t basketball- but after a bit of sulking, she’s back into smiling.

 

It’s a breathtaking sight.

 

Momo and Mina have been neighbors for nearly three years, and since they met -through their windows, Mina doesn’t forget that day-, their interactions soon become the highlight of Mina’s day.

 

She isn’t supposed to leave her bedroom, she’s too sick to take the luxury of exposing herself to the outside weather; Momo makes up for it though, bringing all the refreshing things from the outside for Mina to see, enjoy, and smile at.

 

Mina keeps every memory to herself and turns them into the drawings that are currently decorating her walls; her father was always impressed by her skill to portrait things to the detail she did, he always told her that every picture seemed like it was about to jump out from the paper, and sometimes Mina wished it was like that.

 

When she started adding more drawings, her parents stopped entering her room without permission; Mina loved how respectful they were in order to give her time to concentrate on something and let her mind fly out of that place.

 

The artist stops with her work and stretches her arms towards the roof, sighing when she hears the subtle sounds of her limbs readjusting themselves after the awkward position.

 

Mina wonders if Da Vinci felt like that when he finished painting the Mona Lisa; the urge of perfection making her carry the work for that particular drawing for the last week, but when the moment got there and she finished it, there was an unexplainable feeling of void instead of completeness.

 

It was unnerving.

 

She cleans her hands with extreme care, removing every trace of charcoal until her hands look as pale as the rest of her body because of the lack of outside sun, dark eyes tracing the surface of the canvas meticulously, trying to find the detail that was putting her off so much. She got even more confused when she found none, it was perfect in proportion, lightning and almost as beautiful as Momo because she knew that no art piece coming from her hands would be as beautiful as her.

 

Sighing again, she gives up and sits back on her chair, looking through the window and back to Momo.

 

A trembling hand adjust her glasses when she sees her sitting on the window frame, clad in only an oversized hoodie and giving Mina a privileged view of her legs; she frowns when she sees the bruises on the usually perfect skin. She wants to ask her who did that to her, she wants to ask if it hurts, but she can’t really do so because Momo is too focused on looking at the horizon.

 

“Someone like you shouldn’t be suffering like that in silence.” She whispers to her bedroom, supporting her chin on her hand.

 

Always observant, Mina discovered long time ago that Momo’s father is a bit more than just stern and fond of discipline, and she did try to talk about the dancer about it, to show her she supports her and whatever she decides to do because she and her mind are to precious to be wasted in pointless and repetitive sports that don’t leave space for creativity and self-expression like dancing does.

 

Momo was born a dancer, and Mina made sure to remind her of the fact every time she had the chance.

 

This particular time she keeps silence though, because, in the middle of the chaos, Mina knows that Momo would value her silent companionship more than anything else.

 

Ever since she turned twelve, she was unable to leave the house because of her sickness; her parents did make everything comfortable for her, so she couldn’t feel isolated from the world and all that came with it. Her mother even kept indoor plants everywhere so she could see a little of green when the winter came by; Mina was thankful for it, but after a while she wasn’t really interested on nothing so she spent most of her days in her bedroom, drawing, taking pictures of whatever she found worth of remembering.

 

When Momo came along and they became friends, everything changed for the good, and day after day they shared silence because that’s the purest language shared by two people.

 

Mina loved Momo’s silence, and the calm expression on her face when she slept.

 

The answer for Mina’s dilemma came along with a single idea, and when she realized how simple it was, she chuckled to herself.

 

The night came by and Mina’s drawing still wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t mind, not when she had the most perfect piece of art right in front of herself. Her fingers tensed and her hands became fists on her own sweater as she took it all in; Momo’s eyelashes were beautiful, and her expression was almost something divine, not for everyone to see and Mina felt privileged for that, for only her could be so beautiful and walk alongside mortals as if she were one of them.

 

Mina bites her own lip in concentration because it’s hard to keep her breathing steady given her position; she wants to run her fingers through her hair again and let herself be fascinated, but she can’t when she’s already busy trying to keep herself together because she’s sure she will crumble to pieces if she lets go of her own sweater.

 

She wishes she could be braver, and she spends at least twenty minutes in total silence before she’s strong enough to reach out with one single hand, her trembling palm hovering over Momo’s cheek and it goes down, and down until her own coldness meets velvety skin and a warmth that feels like home.

 

And it’s so overwhelming she feels she could cry in that moment.

 

It’s a single sniff what gets her out of her reverie though, her own.

 

And she watches quietly, in almost stop motion, how Momo’s eyes flutter open and her expression quickly goes from confused to surprised and finally, her eyes seem to adjust themselves in the partial dark of her bedroom and her expression can only be defined as solemn; Mina can only swallow slowly as she sees Momo’s hand move and her fingers latching themselves around her wrist, moving her hand away from her face.

 

“You’re here.” She whispers into the night, it’s not a question, it’s more like she’s suddenly having an epiphany. “You are really here…”

 

“I need to make it perfect” Mina answers like it’s automatic.

 

“What needs to be perfect?”

 

“The portrait, I don’t know what’s lacking and I can’t-” Mina holds back a sob, because when Momo looks at her with that amount of sadness in her face, she can’t help but think it’s all her fault somehow.

 

There’s a certain thread of understanding in Momo’s expression when she shifts on her bed, sitting up and still holding onto Mina’s wrist until the latter is practically forced to sit by her side. Again, their favorite kind of silence makes its appearance, and it somehow calms Mina’s nervousness; she can feel how the wheels are turning inside of Momo’s head, and she still doesn’t move, even when the possibility that something might go wrong exists and it’s quite considerable.

 

“Are you angry because of that?” She asks.

 

Mina nods.

 

“How can I help?” She finally says, and Mina almost chokes on air.

 

“I just need to look at you, and I’ll make it perfect.”

 

She never, in her whole seventeen years of life, imagined herself in that situation; Momo was looking at her like she held the world in her hands and Mina’s breath was taken away when the hand around her wrist moved and soft fingers interlaced with her own. She expected to see a soft expression on the dancer’s face, but instead she got to see the most heartbreaking scene ever.

 

Momo was crying.

 

“W-what is it?”

 

“I’m not perfect… I’ll never be, not when- never mind.”

 

Mina frowns when she hears the fear on her words, almost like it’s a backpack that makes her entire body ache because she has to carry it on her own and hope that everything goes well.

 

For a second, Mina feels like she’s brave; she’s convinced that someone like Momo only deserves happiness and nothing more, she’s that amazing, ethereal and unique.

 

“What do you mean?” Mina urges her to answer, giving her hand a soft squeeze; for the first time she’s able to prove her how supportive of her choices she is, how much she loves her and admires her. Momo sniffs softly, and Mina dares to put her other hand over their interlaced ones.

 

“I can’t be perfect because I’m being held back.”

 

“Who’s holding you back?” Mina innocently asks, and Momo looks at the door of her bedroom, tears welling up her eyes and making the artist heart clench in pain because she suddenly realizes what she’s implying.

 

“I won’t ever be perfect if it keeps happening… I’m sorry.” She sobs quietly.

 

Mina’s shoulders are shaking then, and not because she also feels like crying, but because a new, foreign feeling is taking over her heart for the first time and it’s almost as overwhelming as the exterior world.

 

She wonders if that’s what her parents were warning her about when they told her to avoid going outside.

 

“I’m really sorry…” Momo starts.

 

“No, don’t be, it’s not your fault. Don’t ever believe that, it’ll never be your fault, you’re perfect Momo.” Mina says in a rush, almost dropping her glasses because of her sudden movements, letting go of Momo’s hands and standing up from the bed in order to pace around the bedroom as silently as she can, given the situation.

 

She tries hard not to cry when Momo does the same, a scared look on her pretty, innocent eyes.

 

She almost looks at Mina like she looks at her father.

 

Mina doesn’t like it in the slightest.

 

“It’s not your fault, Momo, It’s not.” Mina repeats, and Momo hugs herself before turning to look at the door, still scared of the demons wandering in the depth of the darkness, like a child would be after listening to a horror story. “I won’t allow it.”

 

“You won’t?” The surprised, and hopeful stare Momo sends her way almost makes Mina crack a smile, but she’s a girl on a mission, that mission being making sure Momo never gets hurt again.

 

Mina feels like she’s making a vow to a goddess, and she gives her a blessing, because soon she’s being held by the dancer’s arms and her sweet, soft lips find a place against her forehead. It’s like being introduced to a whole new world, where the both of them are free to love and make their own world to live in and prosper; Mina opens her eyes to new feelings, vibrant and colorful. Momo is only kissing her forehead, but she thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she ever took participation in.

 

A blessing before she leaves everything behind and throws herself into her arms.

 

“I won’t let it happen again, Momo.” She whispers, letting go of her own goddess before walking towards the door.

 

Her lips are sticky the next morning, and Mina is almost sure she had the most perfect of dreams as she stretches on her bed and sits up lazily; a groan escapes her mouth as she feels the several pops when she stretches her arms and she grimaces when she realizes how sticky her whole body feels.

 

A shower doesn’t sound that bad, she figures when she looks at her own feet, covered in dirt and sticky stuff.

 

Mina makes sure she cleans her hands well, she doesn’t like it when they get dirty, it might make her mess up with her drawings or her picture development materials.

 

And she sighs happily when she’s done.

 

She dresses slowly, because the curtains are open and for the first time, she’s brave enough to let herself be seen from the other window. Momo loves her too, she proved it several times the night before; they made a promise, of never say anything because their love was romantic, as romantic as they come, and Momo wasn’t strong enough to let it become a Shakespearean tragedy.

 

Mina never agreed to a promise faster.

 

It’s almost a perfect morning for Mina, almost, considering the fact that she already finished the drawing and figured out what it was lacking; it was ironic and poetical, almost as poetical as Momo’s love whispers in the middle of the night.

 

Momo, she already misses her, maybe that’s why the morning doesn’t feel entirely perfect.

 

She’s almost done buttoning up her shirt when her mother barges in without even knocking and she makes her actions freeze entirely.

 

“Mina sweetie I-” Her mother interrupts herself and gives her a once over; Mina also feels different, it was a while since she last used a skirt anyway.

 

But then her mother’s eyes fixate themselves on Mina’s latest canvas.

 

“No.” She whispers softly, trying to take a step to place herself in between her mother and the canvas because it’s already perfect and she cannot give her the power to ruin it, she worked too hard to make it that beautiful.

 

Mina feels the tears running down her cheeks when her mother puts her hands on the sides of the canvas and lifts it to watch it closely. She isn’t supposed to handle it like that, but Mina becomes a mouse, tiny tiny mouse when it’s about her mother and her wants.

 

Her breathing becomes uneven when she sees the empty expression on her mother’s face, staring at the canvas like she was trying to decipher it; she swallows slowly when her eyes start traveling around her bedroom, making sure that everything she was seeing was in complete order.

 

“Mina… Mina can you explain this?” She asks when she turns the canvas around and shows her the last work she invested her hours in, more severely than Mina ever heard her on her whole life.

 

The girl feels her eyes burning with tears and her knees start shaking in frustration, because she hates when her mother finds imperfections on something she was sure it was completely okay.

 

“I thought it was perfect…” She sniffs while holding onto her pictures like she could die right there if they weren’t there, and her mother looks like she’s fuming “I don’t know where the mistake is.”

 

The woman puts a hand against her forehead and Mina swears she hears her chuckle in disbelief, she lets go of the canvas and it falls to the floor with an almost imperceptible sound thanks to the room’s carpet, Mina wails desperately, because it touched the floor and it was perfect, perfect. Her mother places both of her hands end up in Mina’s cheeks, holding her face so she can look directly at her.

 

“Mina-”

 

“Honey, let her go.” Her father interrupts them, and Mina breathes out in relief when she sees him, because he’s always the calm when her mother isn’t.

 

He puts his arms around her mother and Mina watches how he pulls the crying woman aside as three other people enter the room.

 

All of them pointing guns at her.

 

“Myoui Mina, you’re under arrest for the homicide of Hirai Ryuta”

 

She definitely felt different when she was escorted outside, for the first time on daylight; the blue of the sky felt different from what she had seen from her closed window, and the green under her feet soon gave space to the gray from the concrete on the sidewalk. It was a new world, and Momo had opened it up for her; Mina had saved her, just like she asked, and she couldn’t help but smile because if Momo didn’t love her entirely before, now she rightfully had earned her heart.

 

She had defeated the demon, she freed Momo.

 

Two of the police officers hold her tightly by the arms, and the contact makes Mina remember the touch of Momo’s lips against her forehead; the handcuffs are unpleasant, but she bears with it because it’s for her, only for her.

 

Her smile didn’t leave her face for a while, at least until when she saw Momo outside her house; little by little, she observed how Momo was being held by another police officer, a blanket around her shoulders as she cries.

 

Mina’s blood freezes.

 

She promised Momo she wouldn’t suffer anymore.

 

They cross looks when the officers make Mina get into the back of the car, and she swears she sees the same unreadable expression on her face, she even gets to see a glint of satisfaction on her eyes when the car starts and they pass just by her and the ambulance, where a black, big bag is being carried into.

 

“She doesn’t look dangerous to me, mate, I don’t understand.” Mina hears one of the officers say.

 

“You don’t have idea, if at least you arrived earlier like you were supposed to, you would’ve heard what the crime scene unit had to say. The girlie entered the house by the daughter’s window and apparently forced herself on top of her until she fell unconscious, then she went to the father’s bedroom and basically… The guy didn’t have a good time either before, and after dying.”

 

“You’re lying.” The younger officer says, sending a glance towards a very distracted Mina.

 

“Never, I swear to god, I never saw anything like this. Apparently, she had been obsessed with the daughter for a while, she had her room full of drawings of pictures of her and that’s not even the worse part, under her bed they found-”

 

Mina tunes out the conversation and shifts her attention towards the fast-changing landscape through the window of the car.

 

She trusted Momo, she trusted her over everything; she was kind, beautiful, and perfect.

 

Mina trusted Momo over everything, so she didn’t really mind waiting for her until she came to rescue her.

 

For now, she only wanted silence, that perfect kind of silence she shared with Momo every time they met each other through their windows.

 

The perfect views.


End file.
